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Introduction

Before realizing his true vocation lay in music, Ešenvalds studied for two years in a Baptist seminary, and he remains deeply committed to the church, serving as director of music for the Vilande Baptist Congregation in Riga. The most substantial product to date of his profound religious faith, Passion and Resurrection was written in 2005 and premiered by Ma_ris Sirmais and the State Choir Latvija. Eschewing the single narrative perspective that characterizes the great Passion settings of the past, the composer has assembled an interlocking mosaic of texts from the gospels, from Byzantine and Roman liturgies, and from the Old Testament. The result (though given a seamless continuity by the music) is fragmentary—a series of snapshots, the tale told elliptically (if directly), combining action and reflection in equal measure; linear chronology is not always strictly observed, and the story begins with a fallen woman acknowledging the divinity of Jesus, and ends with Mary Magdalene (who may be that same fallen woman) recognizing the risen Christ. This circularity (and there are similar echoes and pre-echoes within the narrative) serves to emphasize that these are not historical events but are occurring in an eternal present, just as the passion and resurrection of Christ are re-enacted and re-experienced by Christians every week.

There are no designated characters in the piece: the chorus voices the words of Jesus and reports on events. The prominent solo soprano is a distinctively Marian and maternal presence, as the woman who anoints Christ’s feet, as the visionary Mary Magdalene, and as a tenderly sympathetic observer of Jesus and his mother’s suffering. The string ensemble by turns amplifies the choral textures, offers a static underpinning with sustained drones, and subtly undercuts the vocal message with ironic counterpoints of its own.

The work is in four parts, each prefaced by lines from scripture, which play without a break. Part I opens with four solo voices singing a setting of Parce mihi by the sixteenth-century Spaniard Cristóbal de Morales; seemingly preludial, this objet trouvé is soon established as an important other-worldly presence as gently dissonant string chords are laid over it, and the solo quartet returns subsequently with Morales-derived material, always a hauntingly alien feature in the musical landscape. The soprano recitative that follows is both lamenting and ecstatic, supported by long-drawn string textures which reveal the distinctive harmonic tincture of the work—fluidly modal, flecked with chromaticism, and inclined to downwards semitonal step-movement in the bass. The choral benediction that ends this section has a beatific calm, though as it dissolves into whispers uncertainty returns with an uneasily transparent string chorale.

Part II begins with open-fifth drones in the lower instruments, anchoring the restless lament of the choir in a static D minor, sardonic violin figures offering their own dissident commentary. As the drama intensifies, the sense of foreboding increases, with downward harmonic shifts and greater chromatic density. There is a pounding muscularity to this account of Jesus’s humiliation which culminates in hammered shouts of ‘crucify’, haloed by a shrieking string texture ‘imitating extremely nervous clamours of seagulls’ (the composer instructs). After a fortissimo call for forgiveness, ‘they know not what they do’, subject to multiple repetitions, the solo quartet returns, their tonal certainties anointed with healing balm from the soprano, though as the chorus murmurs a Latin version of the quartet’s words, instability returns as the strings tell a different harmonic story.

Part III has a simple rondo structure. Over an ‘eternal’ pedal C, the soloist offers up an extended meditation, ambiguous in modality and embellished with grace notes and glissandi, while a single violin provides an agitated, flickering descant. Twice the soloist is answered by the choir with luminous diatonic clarity, as two lone sopranos soar to seraphic heights; the second time around this blissful resignation erupts into anguished cries and the final grieving is shared by the soloist and the choir, the strings adding to the desolation with subtle enrichments of the voicing. Again, the solo quartet has the last word, as Jesus gives up his spirit.

The melismatic, rapturous unaccompanied solo that opens Part IV is echoed by hushed choral chanting, cushioned by strings. The landscape is bare, as sighing pairs of chords haltingly descend over an inner pedal. The dazzling moment when ‘the Lord is risen’ is exultant and brief; there is a hiatus of uncertainty before the act of recognition that is the crux of the matter is heralded by the solo quartet. Their rapt repetitions of ‘Mariam’ draw in the choir, hesitant at first yet ultimately glowing as they settle into a gentle oscillation of two chords; the voice of Mary Magdalene soars above them with quiet radiance. Over and over again they call to each other, hypnotic and serene, as a luminescent string chorale slowly ascends to the heights. Yet there is an ambiguity at the very end—which of the two chords is perceived as the ‘tonic’? This lack of finality is essential, for the story must, and will, begin again.

Recordings

The live performance in 2009 of this major work by the young Latvian composer Ešenvalds thrilled critics and audiences alike. As a new liturgical work that looks set to enter the repertoire it is comparable to Arvo Pärt’s Passio. Stephen La ...» More

Woe is me, for my foolish love of debauchery and my cleaving to iniquity have become a deep night unto me in which no light shines. Accept thou the wellsprings of my tears, thou who drawest the waters of the sea up into the clouds. Turn thy countenance upon the sobbing of my heart, thou who hast come from heaven in thy inexpressible sacrifice. I shall kiss thy immaculate feet; I shall dry them with the tresses of my hair. In Paradise, Eve seeing them approaching, hid herself in fear. Who will examine the multitude of my sins, and thy judgements? O my Saviour, my Redeemer of my soul, do not turn away from me: I am thy handmaiden, thou who art infinitely merciful.

Thy sins are forgiven thee; thy faith has saved thee, go in peace!

Spare me, O God, for my days are as nothing. What is man that you so exalt him? Or why do you subject him to your scrutiny? How long will you not let me alone nor set me free so that I can swallow my spittal? Why do you not remove my sin; why do you not take away my iniquity? For now I shall sleep in the earth; and if you seek me in the morning, I shall be no more.

My soul is very sorrowful, even to death. My father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done.

And they stripped him, and put on him a scarlet robe. When they had plaited a crown of thorns, they put it upon his head, and a reed in his right hand, they spit upon him: and they have bowed the knee before him. They mocked him, saying Hail, King of the Jews! And after they had mocked him, they took the robe off from him, and put his own raiment on him, and led him away to crucify him.

Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.

My friend betrayed me by the token of a kiss: Whom I shall kiss, that is he, hold him fast! That was the wicked token which he gave, who by a kiss accomplished murder. Unhappy man, he relinquished the price of blood, and in the end hanged himself.

How great is thy love for mankind, O Lord! Thou bent down and washed Judas’ feet, although he denied and betrayed thee!

At thy mystic Supper, admit me to thy communion, O Son of God. For I shall not betray the secret to thy enemies, nor give thee the kiss of Judas. But, like the thief, I beseech thee, Lord: remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom!

Verily I say unto thee: today thou shalt be with me in Paradise!

The grieving Mother stood beside the cross weeping where her Son was hanging.

Through her weeping soul, compassionate and grieving, a sword passed.

Who is the man who would not weep if seeing the Mother of Christ in such agony?

Woman, behold thy son! Behold thy mother!

Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachtani?

They have pierced my hands and my feet, they have counted all my bones. They divided my garments among them, and upon my garments they have cast lots.

The enemy hath persecuted my soul, they have smitten my life down to the ground, they have made me to dwell in darkness, as those that have been long dead.